Tears on my cowbell ... pain in my hat

The email said that The Washington Nationals Department of Giant Headed Presidential Mascots decided to go in another direction. I tried to go with them in the other direction, but they said that, no, I couldn't come, that that was just a nice way of telling someone to go away. But it doesn't bother me. I was just happy to be there and it was an honor to be asked to audition and all that stuff people say. Now let's never speak of it again or I'll punch you in the throat. No, I am not crying like a little bitch. Shut up.

Anyway, I happen to know for a fact that cold rejection is what the Natties give you when they intend to have you work for them. They call you in, you work 'til you drop and deliver the goods, then they tell you to go away. Then you show up for work like nothing ever happened. That's how that works - unless you're Toma Ohka.





Pedro Astacio showed up in Viero, Florida today. Yes, he was carrying a lot of baggage. But to the average under-informed fan of below-average intelligence , this seems like a shrewd move. A shrewd, last minute, our ace pitcher is John "Ow my arm feels tingly" Patterson, oh my God we are in trouble, move. P'Astacio signed a minor league contract with DC. He will pitch in Columbus, sell hot dogs and beer, be on the rain tarp brigade, and if necessary throw 80 pitches for the major league club every five days. Apparently, Pedro has no agent.

Here atop the vernal equinox, the fearful angst that we're going to win no more the 63 games is in a fierce and brutal tug-o-war with the irrational, undeniable optimism that comes every April. Maybe the pitching committee will pull something together! Maybe Guzman will turn double plays AND get some hits! Maybe the outfield isn't really just another committee! And maybe the Department of Giant Headed Presidential Mascots will realize at the last possible moment that - like the pitching staff - they too could use an older guy, with a shaky hand, a lot of heart, and the will to win a race.